


It's Been Three Years

by Secretlyademigodinthetardis



Series: A Little Slice of Heaven [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Baker Dean, Best Friends, Bookworm Castiel, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dean makes breakfast, Depressed Dean, Destiel - Freeform, Drunk Dean, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Music graduate Castiel, Neighbours, pre-destiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 10:28:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1645385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Secretlyademigodinthetardis/pseuds/Secretlyademigodinthetardis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Timestamp in my 'A Little Slice of Heaven' 'verse - before they confessed how they felt. It's November 2, and Dean finds himself knocking on his best friend and neighbour's door in need of comfort. Cuddling happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Been Three Years

_Saturday, November 2_

The knock on his door came exactly 3 hours after he heard his downstairs neighbour close his door after shutting up the bakery. Castiel looked at his own front door curiously, wondering why anyone would come knocking at 11pm. He slid sideways out of his beanbag, lying in a heap on the floor before managing to climb up and open the door to see who was there.

Dean Winchester stood before him, looking hopelessly bewildered, and an empty bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand.

“Cas? I…shit….fuck…..I’m gonna….” He mumbled, before attempting to turn and head back down the stairs. However, he stumbled over his foot, and would have landed flat on his face had Castiel not caught him hastily and pulled him into a hug. Dean leaned heavily on his friend, closing his eyes as he breathed in the faint scent of paper and baking that Castiel always seemed to have trailing in his wake. “Thanks, Cas. Always catchin’ me, right?”

“Dean, what’s wrong?” Castiel asked, carefully manoeuvring the slightly larger man into his apartment. Scowling at his lack of proper furniture, he helped Dean into his bedroom, with the lonely mattress on the floor. Dean sank down onto the mattress, Castiel guiding him so that he didn’t end up hurting himself.

“’s been three years,” Dean sighed, falling onto his side so his face was pressed into the warm duvet. “My mom and my dad…..three years today.” He looked at Castiel, who had sat next to him so that he was pressed against the bare wooden wall. “And Sammy ain’t even here to be miserable with me.”

Castiel bit his lip. He’d been living in the apartment above Dean’s for four months now, and he still had yet to meet the elusive younger Winchester, for whom Dean was apparently providing funds for college. He saw right through Dean’s statement, saw that Dean was worried about his younger brother. “I’m sure that Sam is fine, Dean.”

“Yeah, probably. He’s got Jess, so that’s one Winchester that isn’t a lonely asshole.” Dean gave a self-deprecating laugh and gestured hopelessly with the bottle as he wobbled into an upright position. “Mom and Dad…..probably be all disappointed in me and shit now…..” he closed his eyes and rested his head on the wall beside Castiel. “I’m kind of a fuck up.”

Castiel stared at him in horror. “Dean Winchester, never talk about yourself that way ever again.”

Dean opened one eye lazily. “What? It’s true. I mean, I was…..shit. I was the dumb kid, you know? And so I became a mechanic, worked for Dad and Bobby – you know, Singer? And…..” he trailed off, tears prickling in the corners of his eyes, and Castiel instinctively wrapped an arm around his friend. Dean took a deep breath. “Like, I never even told ‘em I was gay or nothin’. Mom was always kinda sad because Sammy would bring home his girlfriend, and I never brought home anyone. And I just…fuck, Cas.” Dean hiccupped and began to cry in earnest, burying his face into Castiel’s thin t-shirt. “As soon as they died I quit and opened this fucking café, and I love it. I love having this place, and I love not having to hide who I am, and it,” he shuddered, and Castiel tightened his grip, simply listening to Dean let out all of his pain. “It fucking hurts, knowing they’d probably be disappointed in me, but what hurts even more is not _knowing_ what they’d think, because they’re dead thanks to some asshole drink driver.” He raised the empty bottle, lifting his head to look at it before letting out a small wail. “And I’m no fucking better than that asshole because I’m drinking to cope with all my shitty ass feelings!”

He crumpled even further, curling up into Castiel, who was himself now on the verge of tears at Dean’s story, at his self-hatred, and his distress.

“Dean, please listen to me,” he said, sliding down the wall so that he and Dean were curled up on his mattress, Dean becoming the little spoon and Castiel whispering in the sobbing man’s ear. “You are one of the best people I know. Your parents loved you, and they would be incredibly proud of you no matter what you did, and the fact that you are gay would change nothing. I only wish they could have seen the wonderful man you have become.”

Dean sniffled. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.” Castiel hugged him fiercely. “I am glad I met you, Dean Winchester. Now go to sleep, I’ll watch over you.”

Dean snuggled further into Castiel, so that there was no space between their bodies and Castiel could feel every inch of Dean’s back pressed against him. “Thanks Cas. Don’t deserve you. You’re too awesome,” he mumbled, and within seconds he was asleep. Castiel hesitated for a fraction of a second before allowing himself to dart forward the tiniest bit to place a brief kiss just beyond the nape of Dean’s neck, where his hair met warm skin.

“Goodnight, Dean,” he whispered, and then he too fell asleep, lulled into a sense of peace and security he hadn’t felt since he was a small child, nose pressed against the back of the baker’s neck.

* * *

When Dean woke up the next morning, it was to the fuzzy sight of a vaguely familiar bedroom floor, the sensation of strong arms wrapped around him from behind, and the awful sense of an impending hangover.

“Fuck,” he said to the world at large. The presence behind him shifted slightly, wrapping itself tighter around him and humming contentedly in its sleep. He chanced a glance over his shoulder, hoping against hope that his suspicions and hazy memories were proven correct, and sure enough a messy mop of dark hair greeted him, accompanied by a sleeping face that made Dean’s heart pound.

_So I drunk visited Cas. Awesome._

As he sought to find a way to pry himself from Castiel’s octopus-like grip, the man in question woke up, blinking in a way that shouldn’t have been half as endearing as it was. Dean offered a small, apologetic smile.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” he said, then winced. Castiel yawned, and then fixed Dean with a firm gaze.

“Hello, Dean. Are you feeling better?”

Dean shrugged. “Eh.”

Belatedly, he realised that they were still tangled with one another, and blushed. “Oh, um….sorry. Just. For showing up and being a drunk whiny bitch. And for falling asleep on your bed. Mattress. Thing.” The more he spoke, the more he wished a hole would open up beneath him and take him back to his own bedroom, away from the warm familiarity of Castiel’s sparsely furnished apartment. “Did I do anything incredibly stupid?”

Castiel finally extracted himself, and the two of them lay on the bed facing each other. “Dean, you showed up at my door looking like Hell. I let you in after you attempted to leave, and you told me about your parents and your doubts. I comforted you, and we both fell asleep. Would you like an aspirin?”

Dean was thrown by the abrupt topic change. “Uh, sure.” He caught sight of the empty bottle beside the bed and grimaced. “Shit. Sorry. Again. That was a new bottle yesterday.”

Castiel pursed his lips as he stood up on the mattress and stepped over Dean. “And now it is empty. I’ll be right back.”

Dean watched him walk out into the kitchen, and sighed.

_I’m such a freakin’ dumbass._

Castiel returned bearing a plastic beaker with water in it and two aspirin. “I know it’s not the fanciest of glasses, but……” he shrugged. “Poor Music Graduate.”

Dean smiled as he took the offered provisions for the first time since he’d bidden Castiel a fond goodnight yesterday evening, before he had shut the bakery for the night. “Dude, do you honestly think I’m gonna judge you about what you drink from when you had me here acting like an idiot who can’t control his hormones last night?”

A frown appeared on Castiel’s face. “Dean, do not belittle your emotions. You have every right to feel the way you do, please do not hide yourself from me. I thought we were friends.”

Dean almost choked on the pill he was swallowing. “Of course we’re friends, Cas! Hell, you’re the best friend I’ve got.”

“Then why the false exterior?”

Dean couldn’t think of an answer for a full minute. He fell back and stared at the ceiling. “I’m not…..good. At emotions and stuff. I can cry my heart out when I’m drunk, but when I’m sober I can’t get the words out properly, okay? And that’s just how I am. I don’t get that drunk that often, by the way. It was just…..”

“You feel guilt over your parent’s death and the fact that you will never be able to share your true nature and personality with them, as you were unable to before their death due to doubt and fear.”

Dean turned his head to stare at Castiel. “Cas, I…..”

The blue eyed man squatted next to the bed so that they were eye level, mouth twisting with the uncertainty of how to approach. “Dean, it’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it. If you do feel the need to talk to someone, please come to me. Don’t drink your feelings. It isn’t healthy, and I……” his voice dropped, and he looked at the ground. “I’m worried about you.”

Dean gaped. “Why?”

And once again, Castiel was frowning. “Because you are my best friend, Dean, and I care about you a great deal. I would not wish to see you drink yourself into an early grave.”

“Huh.” A pause. “I should probably….uhhh…..” Dean sat up and gestured vaguely. “Thank God it’s Sunday. I don’t think I could handle working today. Um…do you wanna come to my place? For breakfast? I kinda owe you, man.”

Castiel smiled. “You owe me nothing, Dean. I would gladly care for you again. But if it would make you happy then yes, I’ll join you. All I have here is some tinned spaghetti, so…..” he gave an awkward shrug.

“Awesome.” Dean held out a hand, and Castiel stood up (Dean couldn’t help but notice the way Castiel’s thigh muscles stood out and shifted as he did so), and held out a hand so that he could pull Dean to his feet. Dean gripped his hand, and the stared at one another for a moment. Dean realised after a few heartbeats that he was still holding onto Castiel’s hand despite being upright, and let go hastily as he blushed. “Alright. Yep. Let’s go.”

The pair of them made their way downstairs, still in the clothes they had been wearing last night. Dean, back in his kitchen and in his own element, threw together perfectly cooked poached eggs and bacon, and Castiel’s stomach was rumbling almost non-stop from the sheer smell of it all by the time Dean placed the plate in front of him. He dug in, ignoring Dean’s snort of laughter.

“Dude, anyone would think _you’re_ the one that’s hungover. When was the last time you had a proper meal that wasn’t one of the sandwiches I make you?”

Castiel shrugged, mouth full. Once he’d swallowed, he responded, “I dunno. Couple of months. Can’t really remember.”

Dean was horrified. “Dude! I’d’ve paid you more if you’d just asked! The hell? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Castiel fixed him with a level gaze. “Dean, you are both my boss and my landlord. The money would have been going straight back to you anyway, and you can’t afford to pay me more than you do.”

“The hell I can’t! God, you’re an idiot sometimes Cas. Look, I’ve got the money to pay you more. I’m increasing your pay and lowering the rent – I barely need it, it’s just more convenient for me to own the building instead of renting my flat and owning the space where the café is. And you are gonna spend that money on food and some goddamn furniture – you need a decent bookshelf, man, or your books are gonna end up in a really shitty state. And a bedframe. And a fuckin’ couch, Jesus.”

Castiel stared at him, fork halfway to his mouth. “Dean, you don’t have to do that.”

“I do need to, okay? But first, you are gonna eat your breakfast, have a shower, put some proper clothes on, and then join me for a Lord of the Rings marathon. Capisce?”

A wry smile touched Castiel’s lips. “I capisce.”

“And use as much frigging hot water as you want, because now you can afford it.” Dean poked his tongue out, and Castiel fought the temptation to lunge across the table and take it into his mouth.

They finished breakfast in companionable silence, and Dean began to wonder if the imagined touch of lips to the back of his neck last night as he fell asleep was not, in fact, imagined at all.

**Author's Note:**

> The word 'manoeuvre' is the most fucked up word ever and I hate having to spell it. Anyway, leave comments and kudos!


End file.
